Object
by a mountain of gideon's scones
Summary: She is infatuated by her master, the Dark Lord, but he spares her not a second's thought, not one iota of his emotions. He is a manipulator through and through. And that is all she shall be to him: his pawn. Bellatrix/Voldemort unrequited love. R


_For MillaMayhem, hope it is what you want :D_

_I don't own anything_

_Once again, it seemed to loan itself to 3__rd__ person, so sorry for woodenness; I'm trying to improve my 3__rd__ person a lot!_

* * *

Her entire body trembles as she realises that _He_, her master, her world, is mere metres from her. She knows it will be her turn to be greeted shortly, that all her deeds in his name, including residing in Azkaban for fifteen years, will be remembered with as much gratitude as _He_ gives his servants. She is the loyalist of them all, Bellatrix Lestrange, to the Voldemort who has come back – just as she knew he would.

Though her knowledge of time has been warped since she went to Azkaban, she knows that she has had an intense _longing_ for him since she was Bella Black and he was her master… yet she married Rodolphus for reasons she cannot even remember, all the time knowing that if it were a choice between the Dark Lord and her _husband_, she would choose the former every time.

The anticipation of her greeting from the person she adores, idolises, obsesses over, becomes almost too much for Bellatrix. Her hands begin to shake as she contemplates the chance to be able to _touch_ her master once again, to know that he is truly back, that she is _truly_ free from prison, could be on the cards here. In the past, she had been allowed to touch his robes, and once his hand, but nothing further… he didn't believe in emotion or _touching_, as he said with such venom in his voice, but perhaps today… today, the day she has returned to his servitude for the first time in so many years, he will change his mind.

She waits impatiently for him to reach her and when he does, she cannot hold back her tears. As she gets the chance to gaze into his emotionless red eyes, her own fill with the dratted moisture which blocks his face from hers until she furiously wipes them away, the strength sapping from her body. Usually, adrenaline rushes cause the person to feel stronger, yet Bellatrix falls to her knees in anguish as she realises she can no longer stand up before her master, _him_, the person she has adored for so many years. She is not his equal; how could she _ever_ even contemplate standing on an equal footing with the Dark Lord?

"Master, forgive me," she cries as she falls forwards onto his robes, kissing them as much as humanely possible for a woman with hardly any moisture left in her body. Growling noises begin to occur in the back of her throat as she realises that she despises the men still standing, including her _husband_, for thinking that they are equals to the one who is going to change the world for the better. They think that, just because they went to Azkaban for a long time, they have _suffered_ enough to be deemed to have the same level of greatness as the _Dark Lord_…

Voldemort makes a noise of almost confusion, the sound issuing out of his mouth startling Bellatrix so much that she actually stops wailing to look up at him in shock. He _never_ makes a noise other than to talk, so for something to be said other than actual words surprises her. "Stand up," he orders her softly, his voice dangerously silky smooth.

She swallows as much as possible and makes her way to her feet in an unladylike manner, eager to have the opportunity to devour so much more of his face than from her position on the floor.

"Master," she murmurs his title, the desire and longing for him so evident in her voice, the harsh and creaking tones causing the others in the room to wince, yet Voldemort doesn't seem to notice. His face moves the most any of the room has seen in many a month as he greets his loyalist servant, the one who broke out of Azkaban and came back for _him_…

"You, Bella, are my truly loyalist servant," he says to her, his voice having a hint of almost warmth, or at least recognition of her servitude. "You have returned at great danger and were pleading to my will, which is something more than your comrades managed to do…yet I am willing to overlook their faux pas, for they have spent so long locked away with our fellows… but you, Bella, are a _true_ Death Eater," his highest form of praise has her in tears once again, tears of joy at her recognition by her _master_, the one person she wants recognition from.

He knows that by giving her this bone, the belief that he could never do his work, so to speak, without her is the way to go. Because it means, you see, that he has an absolutely one hundred percent reliable second to do his dirty work… and she loves him. She idolises him and he can use that to his advantage.

Manipulator to the full to get what he wants; by playing with a woman's emotions… hell hath no fury like a woman scorned… he had better hope that she never finds out.

He has no emotions for his followers, perhaps amusement at the way they commit to him so entirely. He has no emotions at _all_ besides the lust for power… and the desire for blood, to kill Harry Potter so that any claims that he can be beaten can be thwarted for good. Dumbledore is ageing, he will die soon, but he Voldemort shall not.

He will never die; his followers will die but he can have fresh ones, ones more suited to the new nature of bloodlust. He can be the _true_ ruler of the wizarding world and make everything be as he desires.

He can have everything.

But, for now, he needs Bellatrix Lestrange.

* * *

_Thoughts?_

_Vicky xx_


End file.
